


Introductory Track | Room 512A: The Ethics of Fake Marrying Your Asshole Patient at a Conference (Presenter: Dr. Joan Bright)

by radioqueen



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mild Femdom, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Public Sex, Vacation, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:32:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9397739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioqueen/pseuds/radioqueen
Summary: When Joan takes a badly needed ethics refresher, Damien tags along. Montréal will never be the same.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anticyclone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/gifts).



Joan was practicing her usual pre-flight mindfulness in the driver’s seat of her car when the passenger door opened and Damien slid into the leather seat.

“Damien!” She should have been used to him showing up unexpectedly by now, but her heart was racing like she’d taken the stairs. “What the hell?”

“I got curious about why you had this whole weekend blocked off but nothing on your calendar. Looks like my instincts were right. Where you headed?”

“If you must know…” She sighed. “...the airport.”

“I figured that much from the suitcase. I meant, where are we flying to?”

“ _We_ aren’t flying anywhere. _I’m_ going to a conference in Montréal.”

“Canada? Fancy. What kind of conference?”

“The American Counseling Association.”

“The _American_ Counseling Association is having their big shindig… in Canada?”

“Yes. It’s in Canada this year. And I need the continuing education credits so I can keep my license, because _someone_ refused to let me go to the American Psychological Association conference in August.”

“Oh yeah,” Damien laughed. “I forgot about that. Fun times.”

“I swear, Damien, if you pull another clingy stunt like that—”

“Hey! I am not clingy, okay? I was just bored and I didn’t want you going out of the country. Wait... wasn’t that Toronto? What’s with all these American organizations having conferences in Canada?”

Joan’s nostrils flared. “Damien, please just get out of the car. I can’t miss my flight.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” He buckled in. “I’ll make sure you get through security without a wait. Let's go.”

“No! I’m not taking you to Montréal!”

“Why not?”

“Come on, Doc.” He pouted his lips. “I’ve never been to Canada.”

“I don't c—You haven’t?”

“Nope.”

“But with your abilities— You realize you could travel basically anywhere you wanted, for free, without a passport?”

“Well, yeah. But what’s the point?”

Joan sat in silence for a moment, trying to puzzle that one out. “Well, the thing stopping most people would be _ethics._ But that’s never stopped you before, has it?”

“Nah. Not really my style. The whole ‘lazy’ thing is more my speed.”

“But now you suddenly want to go to Canada?”

“Sure. Never had anyone to pester—oh, I’m sorry. I meant _travel_ with.”

“Of course. Don’t you need a suitcase? And a passport?”

“Nah, don’t worry about me, Dr. B. People tend to not sweat the details with me. I’ll get some new clothes when I get to Montréal.” He stretched, his knuckles bumping the car's padded ceiling. “Don’t you want to give me the grand ol’ Canadian tour? Help me find the best, I don’t know, what do they eat in Canada? Moose ice cream?”

“Poutine. Donair. Bagels.”

“Sounds weird, aside from the bagels, but I’ll try just about anything once. How about you? You, uh…” He licked his lips, his eyes locked on hers. “...adventurous?”

The familiar warmth of his intrusion filled her mind. It was too early in the morning to be dealing with this bullshit. Normally he didn’t show up until the early afternoon, when she could pretend it was close enough to a socially acceptable time for scotch. She scowled.

“Damien.”

“What?! I just asked a question.”

She turned the key in the ignition, and The Beach Boys blared from the speakers. Joan quickly lowered the volume. Her resolve was fading by the second.

“I can be adventurous.” A smile was forming on her face, despite her irritation. “I probably wouldn’t pick that adjective to be in my top three descriptors, or even my top ten, but I do tend to score fairly high on ‘Openness to experience’ on the Big Five…”

“Yeah, I have no idea what that is, but that wasn’t what I was asking about.”

“I know what you were asking about. I was ignoring you.”

“Oh, you were resisting me, _eh_?” He winked at her. “Good girl. You know I like when you do that.”

She pointed toward his window. “Get the hell out of my car, Damien.”

“Nuh uh. You’re taking me with you to Montréal. Let’s go! _Comment allez-vous!_ ”

“What? Are you trying to say _allons-y_?”

“I know what I said.” Damien mashed a button on the radio, prompting U2 to start playing. “Jesus, Dr. B.! Don’t you have any music my dad didn’t listen to when I was in kindergarten?”

Joan pulled away from her apartment, trying to fight him. She only lasted as far as the second light.

“Damien, why don’t you control the aux cord?"

“Capital idea! Thanks, Doc.” He fiddled with the radio, pushing all the buttons she still hadn’t figured out yet. He plugged the speaker cord into his phone, and a moment later his weird “trip-hop” playlist crooned through the car.

“That’s better.” Damien rested his phone on his lap and put his hands behind his head. “Let's go to Canada.”


	2. Chapter 2

Four hours later, Damien was leaning on the front desk of the downtown Montréal Travelodge.

“But I don’t wanna stay here,” he whined.

“Well, not all of us can just will people to do whatever we want, and I can’t very well spare the extra $200 when _my patients don’t pay me_.”

“Heh, yeah, I bet. Wait, who else isn’t paying you?”

Joan pressed her thumbs into her temples. “Damien…”

“Come on, I wanna stay somewhere cool!” Damien gestured at the bemused clerk, who was finally hurrying over to help them. “Hey, what’s the best hotel in this city? Don’t say this one.”

“Uh, the Ritz Carlton?” The teenage girl offered.

“Ew. A place like that has no character. Lame. What else?”

“Hôtel William Gray gets good reviews?”

“What does it look like? Is it old and stuffy? Ugh, let me guess—European castle-style?” Damien wrinkled his nose.

“No, it’s, um… kind of modern? But with plants and old stones and stuff? I don’t know. I’ve never stayed there.”

“Perfect! Say, you wanna refund the nice lady’s money, right? We’re gonna stay somewhere else.”

Joan’s nostrils flared. “Damien, I already told you, I can’t afford to stay anywhere else.”

“I’ve got it, Doc. Relax.”

Damien flicked through hotel pictures on his phone while the girl refunded Joan’s reservation deposit. Joan pulled her rolling suitcase behind her, glaring at Damien the whole way back to the rental—a Cadillac the agency had suddenly insisted on upgrading Joan to. After she tossed her bag into the trunk, she held the keys up.

“Well? Are you driving again?”

“Nah, you can go ahead,” he said, as if he were doing her a deeply meaningful favor. “I’ll navigate.”

“Are you sure you should be using your phone here? Your data rates will go through the roof.

Damien scoffed. “I have free unlimited data in North America.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it’s a long story.”

“I assume you imposed your want on someone who works for the cell phone company.”

“Okay, it’s not that long. Yeah, I had a chance encounter with the CEO of Verizon a couple years ago. Sometimes you just gotta knock on opportunity’s door yourself.”

"Must be nice."

"It's okay, sometimes."

Joan bit her tongue. Rather than saying anything that might betray her jealousy over his ability, she sat in the driver’s seat and started the car while Damien slid into the passenger’s seat as usual. She pulled out onto the street, going a little slower than the flow of traffic. A minivan honked and swerved around her.

“Where am I going, Damien?”

“You’re gonna take a left on Rue Notre-Dame,” he said, pronouncing the street in the most American way possible.

Joan followed his directions, driving toward the waterfront.

“So, Dr. B., speak any French?”

“I’m more or less fluent, yes.”

“Whoa, look at you. Say something."

"Something."

"Ha ha. I didn't realize you  _had_ a sense of humor. You know what I meant. Say something in French."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Something sexy."

" _Je te méprise_. _Je_ _préférerais me crever les yeux plutôt que passer une minute de plus avec toi_. "

"Hot," Damien said. "What does that mean?"

"I despise you and would rather poke my own eyes out than spend one more minute with you."

"Nice. You're more fun when you're being mean. Okay, turn right. No, not here. Next right.”

“Street name?” Joan asked, irritable.

“Rue Saint—You missed it. Okay, recalculating.”

Joan simply turned right onto the very next street. Ahead, the hotel sign glinted in the afternoon sunlight. Joan turned into the parking lot and claimed a spot.

“I assume you have a plan?” she asked.

“Play it cool,” he said. “I’ve got it.”

Joan sighed.

As they approached the front desk, a well-to-do gentleman suddenly opened his wallet and handed Damien a fat stack of cash.

Damien grinned, as if he’d expected the man to do it all along. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

The man bustled off, looking baffled. Joan reluctantly followed Damien the rest of the way across the foyer.

“One room please.” Damien leaned across the counter and winked, causing the clerk to blush. “One with a Jacuzzi, if you’ve got it.”

“Make it a suite,” Joan said. "Two beds."

“Fine, make it a suite,” Damien said. “What’s open?”

“Not much,” the red-faced young man said. “There are some conferences in town.”

“Maybe you can move someone?” Damien dropped his newly acquired colorful bills on the counter. “What’s your nicest room? This is my first time in Canada. You want me to have a good time here, right?”

***

“This is what I’m talking about,” Damien laughed as he fell on the king-sized bed. “You’re sleeping here with me, right Doc?”

“When hell freezes hover.” Joan tossed her toiletry bag onto the sofa. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need to get to this conference. My first session starts soon.”

“Yeah? What session?”

“Ethics in Counseling.”

Damien laughed so hard he fell off the bed. “Oh, that’s something else, Dr. B.,” he said from the floor. “Who’s making you go to that? Not that I disagree with them, I just wanna know who it is.”

“No one. Well, not directly. It’s a continuing education credit, and I—why am I telling you this? Just let me go to my conference.” Joan shoved a lipstick into her purse and shouldered the bag, checking her registration papers were there. “Unless you want me to lose my license and have to close my practice.”

“All right, all right.” Damien stood and dusted himself off. “Let’s go.”

“Where are you going?”

“What, you think I’m going to let you go have fun without me?”

“I’d hardly call sitting in a classroom for three hours fun,” Joan said.

“Then we’ll make our own fun.” Damien pocketed the key card and opened the hotel door. “After you.”

Joan contemplated pushing past him and darting away, getting out of his range before he recovered from his surprise and willed her to hang out with him again, but even as she contemplated it, she scoffed at herself. Where would she go? It wasn’t as if she could ditch her conference, and he'd know exactly where to find her if she went straight there. She dismissed the idea of escaping, as she always did, and grudgingly let Damien trail her to back to the rented Cadillac.


	3. Chapter 3

“How likely are we to bump into someone we know here?” Damien asked as he fastened his handwritten nametag and badge to his hoodie. “And by ‘we,’ I mean ‘you.’”

“Not very likely,” Joan said. “This conference is mostly master’s level clinicians, and the few doctoral level practitioners have generally run in different circles than I have, given that they graduated from counseling psychology programs.“

“As opposed to...?”

“A clinical psychology program. Clinical programs tend to focus on the science side of things—often mental illness, but not always. In my case, it was atypical neuroanatomy, specifically.” Joan recognized his push for information but was helpless to resist it. “Counseling psychology programs focus on counseling theories and methods. It’s a different fundamental approach, but ultimately the two types of programs prepare psychologists to do largely the same types of work. It’s not uncommon for a clinical graduate to do counseling, nor for a counseling graduate to do scientific research, even in fields like neuropsychology.”

“That’s interesting and all, but mostly I just wanted to know if anyone would know I was your patient.”

“Definitely not.” Joan frowned. “I’ve taken a great deal of care to hide your identity from the AM. Do you really think I’d waste that by telling an acquaintance about you?”

“Great!” He put his arm over her shoulders as they approached the minglers. “Hey, how’s it going? I’m Damien, and this is my wife, Joan.”

“What are you doing?” she demanded in his ear.

“You trust me, right?” he whispered back.

“Not even a little.”

“Well, that’s too bad, cuz your career is in my hands now.” He laughed and patted her shoulder. “Sorry, we were just talking about how weird it is to say that. Just tied the knot this morning!”

“Oh, wow,” said a woman whose nametag read ‘Nadia.’ “Was it a planned wedding, or…?”

“Yeah, just a little courthouse affair.” Damien kissed Joan’s cheek. “You know how it is. Two clinical psychologists like us. Busy people, busy lives.”

Still seething inside, Joan forced a smile. “Sometimes the only way to get a vacation is to tack it onto a conference.”

Everyone chuckled and nodded in agreement.

"Isn't that the truth?" someone said.

“I haven’t seen too many fellow clinical psychologists around here,” said a new woman, Amelia.

“Oh yeah,” Damien said. “Just graduated last year.”

“Congrats! Where are you doing your internship? Or are you into your fellowship now?”

“Uhh…” Damien surreptitiously poked Joan, then when she ignored him, he said, “The VA hospital. Yeah.”

“Which program did you attend?”

Joan watched Damien squirm. It was just as satisfying as she'd predicted.

“Um, I… University of… Milwaukee?”

“Get out!” A new woman pushed through the crowd and high-fived Damien. “I went to UW Milwaukee too! I was in the counseling program, though. How was the clinical side? Is Dr. Cahill there?”

Nadia fanned herself with her conference folder. “Tell us about your dissertation?”

“The VA hospital…" Amelia mused. "Are all VA hospital internships APA accredited? I’ve never known anyone who interned for the government.”

"Uhhh...."

Joan relished Damien’s discomfort, so it was a little disappointing when he started willing people to leave him alone.

“Coward,” she said under her breath.

“Come on, honey. We’re going to be late for that ethics class.” Damien hurried away.

“Wrong direction,” Joan said, tapping the map in her brochure.

“Right.” Damien circled back, this time pulling her along with him.

“A little out of your element?” she snorted.

“They’re all so nosy! Jesus, Dr. B., how does a private person deal with them?”

“They pry into people’s lives for a living,” Joan said. “The trick is to get them talking about their areas of research, and then most of them won’t stop talking about their own projects. Also, I don’t get out much.”

“That’s true. Okay, where we going?”

“Fifth floor,” Joan said. “Room 512A.”

They boarded the elevator alone. Just as the doors began to close, Nadia and Amelia rushed in, chattering about the upcoming session.

Nadia turned to ask Damien a question, and Joan suddenly had the overwhelming urge to kiss him. Not just kiss him—make out with him. She pushed him against the mirrored elevator wall, grabbing him by the hoodie, and kissed him hard. She even bit his lip for good measure, being as theatrical as she could. The urge was so powerful she didn’t even process that he was compelling her to do it until Amelia cleared her throat. Joan pushed away from Damien, quickly patting down her hair with a disgusted huff.

“It’s so cute that you two are newlyweds here on your honeymoon," Amelia said.

“Montréal is a very romantic city.” Joan dabbed lipstick away from the spot just under her lip.

“Besides, you really need those continuing education credits,” Damien said. “Isn’t that right, _honey_?”

The elevator dinged. Damien started to disembark with the two women, but Joan held him back by his sleeve.

"If you keep this up, I  _will_ make sure no one ever finds your body," she warned.

Damien just laughed and pulled free. "C'mon. Don't want to be late, do you? That seems... unethical."

Joan growled in frustration.


	4. Chapter 4

The pre-conference “learning institutes” were held in two or three huge rooms, each separated by several partitions and filled with foldable tables and chairs. Joan and Damien slipped into the back of the ethics session, Joan spreading her belongings across the table so no one would sit next to them. Damien nodded his approval at her technique and propped his feet on the chair next to him.

The first 15 minutes of the ethics session were so painful Joan was already dreading the next two and a half hours. She was so bored that she didn’t even mind when Damien leaned in to whisper to her.

“This sucks,” he said.

“Agreed.”

“Can we leave?”

“No, I need the CE credits.”

He pouted. “Fine. Can I at least finger you while no one is looking?”

She opened her mouth to ask if he was out of his mind, but just then the presenter, a monotonous white-haired man in a cardigan, flipped the slide. It was so packed with text that Joan couldn’t see it without her glasses, which were buried in the bottom of her purse. She sighed.

“You know what Damien? Sure. Why not?”

“Seriously? Wait, do you actually want it, or am I making you?”

They both paused, the soft droning from the front of the room serving as background noise while Joan tried to feel for Damien’s wants hijacking hers. She could feel him, but no more so than usual when she was near him. His wants brushed up against hers, as much background noise in her mind as the presenter’s voice, but there was no strong or deliberate nudging from him. She laid her cardigan over her lap and inched her skirt up to her hips.

“Apparently, I actually want it.” She squeezed hand sanitizer onto his open palm. “You will use your ability to keep everyone from looking at us, though, right?”

“Totally.” His usual devious smirk left her less than convinced.

She parted her legs under the sweater anyway. "Fine. Go for it."

Damien scooted his chair right next to hers. Thankfully, the carpeted floor muffled the noise. He set his hand on her bare knee and slid it up her thigh, under her cardigan. She inhaled sharply as he pushed her cotton underwear out of the way.

“Well, well, well.” He stroked her wet skin. “You do want it.”

“Shh.” She picked up her pen and attempted to resume her notetaking.

As his first finger wiggled its way inside Joan, she leaned back and spread her legs wider. True to his word, Damien kept the presenter looking away from her, and none of the other conference attendees turned to look at her, even as she creaked further down into her metal chair.

“I told you,” Damien said into her neck. “We make our own fun.”

He sank his teeth into her shoulder through the chiffon of her blouse, making her squeeze around his fingers. She wanted to throw her head back and moan his name, but she narrowly suppressed that urge.

“Stop,” she said. “Stop wanting me to be loud.”

“Easier said than done, _Joan_.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you want, Dr. B.”

She grasped a handful of his hair and pushed him out of his chair, onto his knees under the table. He eagerly crawled between her knees, pulling her light blue briefs down her legs with a little cooperation from Joan. He stuck his head under her sweater and found her pulsing clit with his tongue.

“Damien,” she whispered.

His teeth grazed over her, making her gasp. Nadia started to glance over her shoulder at Joan, but her head jerked back to the presenter before her eyes made contact.

Joan gave up completely on trying to take notes. Both hands massaged Damien’s hair, pulling him in and reluctantly granting him occasional air breaks. She could feel him jerking himself off through his baggy jeans, but she gave no indication. She didn’t like him enough to reward him, whether by helping or hindering him, depending on where his tastes lay.

She finally finished with a very soft cry, one that made a few heads half-turn her direction, but Damien apparently wanted the privacy as much as she did. He kept licking her even after her hands relaxed on his head. She was on the verge of yanking him away when he finally groaned into her lap, his body jerking and then sagging in relief. A moment later, he crawled back into his seat, a small wet spot on the front of his jeans.

“How was that?” He wiped his face on his sleeve.

“I’ve had worse,” Joan whispered back.

“Tell the truth.”

The compulsion caught her off guard. “It was pretty good, which surprised me, given how selfish you are. But I have no complaints about your actual performance.”

Damien licked his lips, crossing one leg over the other with a self-satisfied grin. “I knew it. Well, don’t worry, Dr. B. You can make it up to me later in the Jacuzzi. Or maybe in a bar. I wonder if Montréal has rooftop bars. That would be a great place for next time...”

"Next time?" She laughed softly at that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I’d accidentally wandered into the learning institute on delusions.”

“Nice try, Dr. B. Stop trying to pretend that you didn’t just let your long-time patient finger you and eat you out in your psychologist ethics class.”

Joan’s horror must have shown. Damien leaned back in his chair, stuffing his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“You can act all high and mighty now, but you’ll be back when you get turned on enough. I bet you’ll ask for it again even before the end of this session.”

Sure enough, she was already feeling the early tingles of arousal again. Whether it was his want or hers, she didn’t know. She didn’t know if it mattered at that point.

“Goddammit,” Joan breathed.

Damien smirked. He leaned back farther in his chair, the front legs tipping away from the floor. "Told you. Whoa!"

Joan only laughed a little when he leaned back too far and fell backward onto the floor. This time, people did turn around to stare. Their heads quickly whipped back around as Damien, red-faced, scrambled up and righted his chair.

"Smooth," Joan said.

"Shut up," he said.


End file.
